


His Eye is on the Sparrow

by Spylace



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Breeding, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Due to the aforementioned identity issues, Emotional Manipulation, Forced Pregnancy, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, M/M, Memory Loss, Mpreg, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Not Canon Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Of course there's a tag for this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-11-23 10:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11400693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spylace/pseuds/Spylace
Summary: In this universe, Hydra doesn’t send the Winter Soldier to kill Captain America. It sets its eyes on a loftier goal—breeding an army of super soldiers. Blinded by their ambitions, they underestimate the lengths Steve is willing to go to in order to keep his best friend. Because in no universe will Steve let Bucky go before the end of the line.When a brainwashed Winter Soldier comes to him expecting to be bred, Steve takes him and runs.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Keeping up with the bird-themed stories. 
> 
> Happy birthday Steve Rogers.

 If anyone in the multiverse was keeping score, they would have shot the person who brought up the idea. They would have struck a dynamite to the details, the plans and _diagrams_ and tossed it remorselessly down a garbage chute, duct taped with a return address straight to the burning heart of the sun saying nope, nope, never, dead dove: do not eat.

Unfortunately for Hydra, no one was keeping score. At least none that cared to tell Hydra they were marching towards imminent destruction. When a frozen relic of a bygone era ran around barefoot in Time Square, all Hydra could see was bling-bling and an army of tiny, biddable, child assassins for their new world order. The Winter Soldier was a marvel of his time. But the age of heroes has come and gone; now was the age of miracles.

The Winter Soldier was given a mission. To act the part of an omega for the good captain to seed his womb. What Hydra did not take into account was the lengths Steve Rogers was willing to go to keep his best friend.

The critics rated Steve Rogers as:

 _“A good man.”_ – Abraham Erskine

 _“The man with the plan.”_ – Philip Chester

 _“My favorite fossil.”_ – Natasha Romanoff

 _“The little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight.”_ – James ‘Bucky’ Barnes

“We shouldn’t do this.” Steve whimpered when James spread his thighs, fingers skating on the damp, sticky skin as he scissored himself open for Steve. Just for Steve. And Steve turned away from the sight with a groan, muttering Ten Hail Marys under his breath.

His hips jumped tellingly when caught, heat diffusing like a sparkler through his core. James laughed rough and dirty. So much like _Bucky_ that the first thrust of his diamantine cock was gilded with an edge of hysteria. The head caught just around the puffy rim before riding up the crack of his ass.

Instead of laughing at him, James bit his lips with a hint of promise.

“You really wanna stop soldier?”

 

Wait.

 

Back up.

 

Steve was at a party. Some sort of a charity for he-didn’t-know-what. It was probably something important, _life-saving_ even because the _president_ was there.

It was a masquerade but people still recognized him in his monkey suit. People recognized the proud way Tony strutted about in his ruby mask. The unmistakable flare of Natasha’s hair. They were stranded in a sea of pheromones, hot and cloying, and Steve sneezed uncontrollably into his shoulder, about to beg off with a lame excuse or three that he was really, really a cranky, arthritic ninety-year old with a set bedtime.

He’d shaken enough hands that he wasn’t sure that his were still attached.

So when someone touched his elbow, deceptively light but with enough steel in their grip to make themselves known, Steve whipped around, ready for a fight.

“You in the Boy Scouts?” The stranger asked, grinning around his wolf mask. “Because you sure have my heart in a _knot_.”

In spite of himself, Steve snorted.

It wasn’t something he hadn’t heard before. Certainly, waking up in the future was a shock. But with Tony Stark as a teammate, he lacked for nothing. He had an entire apartment to himself in Brooklyn, a place to crash in the Avengers Tower, and a helpful AI who answered any questions he might have had that he was too embarrassed to ask anyone else.

He wasn’t surprised that an omega sought him out. The omega was lean and attractive. Even the fierce wolf mask couldn’t hide the sharp line of his jaw or the swoop of his back as they dipped into a lovely waist.

The omega stepped forward, close enough to share air, and asked softly, “May I kiss you?”

For some reason, what came out of his mouth was not a no. Steve let the omega lean into him and parted his lips for him to taste, to lick inside his mouth and behind his teeth while everyone else watched with ill-disguised jealousy at a virtual stranger, a nobody, an omega, who’d stolen Captain America’s attention.

There was a flash of light and a cool, “ _I’ll take that, thank you_.” From Pepper as she confiscated a phone from a guest.

The omega hummed in approval. Their masks chimed as they brushed their foreheads together.

“Call me James.” ‘James’ goaded as though telling him a secret and Steve groaned because that _name_.

Seriously.

But his voice was high and breathless as he agreed.

“James.”

James tilted his head.

“Wanna take this somewhere else?”

Steve swallowed.

If he followed this man, this stranger, omega, _James_ , the whole world would know what he had done. The paparazzi would be camped out in front of his building, on his doorstep. The Shield PR team would stare at him with betrayal and put-upon sighs of whenever _Tony_ got into trouble.

They’d warned him that there were omegas here, pre-estrus or otherwise, reckless enough to approach an unattached alpha in heat. Betas who swung right on the spectrum. Alphas who favored other alphas.

“Shh.” James soothed, nipping his ear. “You can say no.”

But James smelled so sweet and willing, a mouthful of spice, pepper and smoke. Steve knew that anyone else would have taken the offer in a heartbeat and somehow, the thought infuriated him as the unconscious grip on the other man’s hip became a vice.

James let out an appreciative growl in return, looking like a wolf in his iron mask, a wild thing, something precious and _new_. The omega bore his neck as an offering, tasting like salt and scented soap under his chin, heat and readiness behind his ear.

Horrified, Steve backed away, shuffling sideways to hide an obvious boner. His ma raised him with _manners_. It was discourteous for him to presume—it was ungentlemanly. But James smirked and ground his own need against the crease of Steve’s thighs.

“C’mon.” James promised. “I know the perfect place.”

 

The perfect place was the first door they tried that wasn’t locked. A bathroom a floor down from the main party.

The staff were too professional to comment but shot them a look of aggrieved resignation when they barreled head-first into the gilt-edged bathroom and kicked the door shut.

Steve moaned into the burst cherry of James’ mouth. There was no subtlety in their movements, no poetry, no love. James fumbled with his belt before it came apart with a sharp ping. His trousers dropped and Steve held back a moan for an entirely different reason because James was cut, thick and perfect like the rest of him and Steve couldn’t not touch him.

He wanted to measure with his thumb and fingers and the span on his palms. Steve wanted to know what it tasted like. What it felt like.

Without ceremony, Steve got on one knee.

“May I?” He asked and James favored him with a crooked smile, a warm hand behind his neck.

James was a solid weight in his mouth. He sucked experimentally, harder when James let out a grunt of appreciation, softer when it felt like the other man might try to climb down his throat and live there.

Steve greedily took James further until he was pushed away. He rocked back on his heels, disappointed.

“Why’d you make me stop?”

With a smirk, James pushed himself on top of the marble counter, knees spread, cock curving towards his belly.

All thoughts fizzled out of his brain.

“I don’t have a condom.” He blurted out anxiously and James snorted. Not in a mean way but as though he’d said something funny. It was the same expression Betty—Miss U—had given him before climbing him like a tree. It was encouraging in a way. But at the same time, Steve swallowed, mesmerized by the way James glowed under the warm, amber light.

“We shouldn’t do this.” Steve whimpered when James spread his thighs, fingers skating on the damp, sticky skin as he scissored himself open for Steve. Just for Steve. And Steve turned away from the sight with a groan, muttering Ten Hail Marys under his breath.

His hips jumped tellingly when caught, heat diffusing like a sparkler through his core. James laughed rough and dirty. So much like _Bucky_ that the first thrust of his diamantine cock was gilded with an edge of hysteria. The head caught just around the puffy rim before riding up the crack of his ass.

Instead of laughing at him, James bit his lips with a hint of promise.

“You really wanna stop soldier? Leave me for some poor shmuck to have as sloppy seconds?”

Steve growled.

In the mirror, his expression had grown twisted in a parody of thirst and anger. The kind of an alpha everyone knew to avoid.

But James simply laughed at him as he dragged his fly down enough to free his cock, line them up and thrust into the hole that was leaking slick. His teeth latched onto the meat of James’ shoulder, through the cotton, laving at the fabric trying to get more, more, until James unbuttoned his shirt with a single pull and Steve didn’t know if he should be appreciative or appalled that it had been so easy. But he was distracted by silk heat in his mouth, the salt and hint of something metal. He tried to get a better angle, pulling out until just the tip of his head remained. He pushed back in, again and again until his cock was fully sheathed, until he felt the tell-tale pressure at the base of his balls.

Instinct drove at him to hold James there, let his tight body milk him until he came and knotted them as one. With herculean effort, he pried his teeth from James and the omega whimpered at the sudden shock of air, bereft and needy as his hips fluttered against Steve’s belly. Steve couldn’t help but wrap an arm around the omega’s waist to pull him close, almost on top of his cock, bottomed out against the other man’s back.

He missed Bucky.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair to either James or Bucky but he missed him. He missed the intimacy and the casual touches and the unconditional love knowing that Bucky was for him, meant for him, just for him. It wasn’t at all fair to compare the two but if he closed his eyes, breathed deep into the musk and sweat and pheromones, he could pretend it was Bucky under the mask.

He began to swell at the base of his cock. He was about to pull away when James hooked a knee around his hips.

“ _Knot me babe._ ”

“Oh _Christ_.” Steve squeaked, his knot caught at the rim and now stuck.

James trembled under his hands and it startled Steve enough to grab him and pin him and keep him there.

They were knotted. Even he hadn’t knotted Bucky more than a handful of times because of war. But a stranger made him knot.

He watched awed as the omega shifted and stretched to accommodate his girth. There was a note of pain in his throat so familiar that Steve immediately dropped a kiss on top of his head to appease him, a hand thumbing the line of pelvis to make it easier.

The omega hit his own peak and clenched down.

Everything clicked into place.

This was right.

He was an alpha and Bucky was his omega.

Except this wasn’t Bucky.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. It’s.” Steve said in a horrified whisper. “Are you okay?”

“’s alright.” James said dreamily, his form languid with desire. “Possibility of conception increases during knot-induced ovulation.”

“What.”

He could have crashed the Valkyrie in the Arctic again and it would have paled to the sudden chill that gripped him.

James frowned, his tongue between his teeth as though he couldn’t quite figure out what he’d said or _done_ wrong and god help him, Steve’s first instinct wasn’t to punch him but to suck on that tongue. Hand shaking, he reached out with one arm, the other carefully holding James against the mirror, searching for something, anything. But there were no forms of identification on him, no wallet, or card or even a press pass.

His jacket, when the collar was flipped inside out, had the labels neatly snipped off. As though this wasn’t an age he could take a picture and ask on Twitter.

“Who are you?” Steve demanded, shaking him. “Did you plan this? What do you want with me?”

James was unmoved by his demands. He was more interested in where they were joined, where he was stretched pink and tight around Steve’s deflating knot.

He didn’t put up a fight when Steve took his mask off and what he saw took his breath away.

Because the omega wore his best friend’s face. The same best friend who died in the Swiss Alps in 1945.

James didn’t move when Steve touched his face. The same nose, same eyes and the same goddamned cheekbones.

“Bucky?”

James frowned.

“Who the hell is Bucky?

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've actually had this chapter written for a while. And I sat on it because what, build up tension? I am laaaaazzzyyyy. That and I was kind of preoccupied with Dragon Age. Send help.

“You’re...” Steve reeled backwards. He dropped the mask and it fell on the floor, denting its smooth surface. With a swipe of his hands, he took his own off. A generic domino with little fringes near the edges to make them look like wings. Mostly they were cheap and ugly and he only wore them to see Nat smile. “You are. You... you’re dead.”

No, don’t throw up. He told himself sternly. Do not throw up on your maybe-dead-best-friend who wasn’t dead, he was alive. Whom Steve was still connected to because he was some kind of a giant pervert and his dick hadn’t forcibly retracted into his body.

His knot twitched once and he was pleased how well the omega was taking it before the feeling was supplanted by shame. He didn’t know where to put his hands but Bucky wove them around his shoulder, behind the back of his neck to keep him close.

Steve melted.

His hips stuttered with jagged rolls and shallow thrusts that Bucky whimper sweetly against his neck, teeth scraping the scent glands behind his ears. With a huff, Bucky drank him in and relaxed, soft and pliant and perfect. 

But as soon as his knot loosened, he threw himself headfirst against the toilet and threw up.

He threw up everything—the canapes, the fancy wine, the tiny cakes with a gold leaf on top, the whole nine yards.

Steve gripped the toilet hard enough to hear it crack under his palms and he threw up again, body shuddering, threatening to twist permanently into an upside down ‘u’ because. Just because.

A hand traced the seam of his spine. It rubbed firmly between the shoulders, in familiar arcs, patterns. If there had been any doubts, it was gone now.

He’d just raped his best friend.

Steve retched again, entire body arching around the disgusting bowl.

Bucky made a noise of concern. He offered a sleeve for Steve to wipe his mouth and Steve moved his head, to the left so Bucky would have to follow. As though the war never happened and the gilded bathroom, its reflective walls, the fancy tiles and the marble counters, their tiny room in Brooklyn.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked gently and Steve cringed.

“No.” He coughed. “I don’t understand. You’re alive. Bucky, what happened?”

“’m James remember?”

Steve pushed himself against the stall, as far away from the other man as possible in the confined space. If this wasn’t Bucky, if this was some kind of an imposter or robot like something out of dime novels Bucky used to enjoy so much, he still needed to be saved. In no world, no universe, would he allow anyone to use Bucky or a facsimile of him this way, pulling on his strings from the shadows like some demented puppeteer.

“You said.” He tried and couldn’t put the words in his mouth. They were vile. An antithesis of what he and Bucky were supposed to be. He swallowed. “What did they do to you?”

Bucky grew solemn.

Bucky grew solemn.

“I received orders.”

“To what?”

“To be bred by you.”

“What?” Steve asked in dawning horror. “Why?”

“It is not my place to ask questions.” Bucky answered.

“But Bucky.”

“James.” The person wearing Bucky’s face corrected.

His mind whirled. Someone had ordered Bucky to come to him. To seduce him. To rut like animals instead of. Instead of. Someone had wanted a baby from him and Bucky. A baby.

He choked.

“Shh,” Bucky soothed, leading him back to the toilet bowl. “You cannot perform when you are in distress.”

“Who gave the order?” Steve demanded. “Bucky, who?”

Bucky appeared pained. He tried several times to say a name. He could only shape one syllable. A vowel in the shape of ‘ah’.

“Hydra.”

It felt like breath had been punched out of him. Steve’s eyes went wide. Impossible. He thought. Hydra was dead.

“How?”

“How what?” Bucky asked patiently.

“How did Hydra survive?”

“Cut off one head and two more takes its place.” Bucky quoted by rote. His eyes glazed over before returning to its placid blue. “An irony considering myself.” He gestured to his arm. When Steve grabbed it, he realized that the left hand was a prosthetic. He had to fight not to cling to the toilet again.

They had tried. Hydra had tried. Tried to throw on an illusion of a human limb. But without a knot clouding his brain, he realized it lacked a heartbeat in the carefully crafted joints. It lacked warmth and heat.

For the first time since waking from the ice, Steve mourned. Allowed himself to mourn. He mourned not because of lost time but for Bucky who died in the war. Mourned because he survive. He lived and no one thought to look for him. To find him. Steve mourned the seventy years he went on dreaming under the ice while Hydra flourished.

Bucky leaned against him, trousers puddled around his knees. Steve could see the swing of his cock swing in the shadows between his thighs, flushed pretty and pink and vulnerable. He could probably just slide inside and Bucky wouldn’t mind. Bucky wouldn’t think to mind. There was something wrong with Bucky.

“Come with me.” Steve said. “I can keep you safe. You don’t have to go back to Hydra. I’ll take you to Shield and...”

Bucky made a noise.

“What?”

“Shield _is_ Hydra.”

At a certain point, Steve resolved, he would stop being surprised.

“Explain. Now.”

“Shield was founded by Howard Stark in 1945. Soon after, Operation Paperclip was enacted. Agents, particularly German Scientists, were recruited for strategic positions and opportunities Shield offered.”

“You’re saying that the government, the US government, hired Nazis.” Steve said in disbelief. 

Bucky shrugged in response.

“And where were you?” Steve asked, desperate to find a silver lining in the thundercloud.

"Hydra recovered my body. They discovered that I was a suitable recruit for Weapons Plus. I became an asset.”

Steve growled. Immediately, Bucky bared his neck as though to soothe his nerves. Submissive in everything but the eyes. The blue in them were the clear skies before a storm. A rare sundrop beckoning to be enjoyed.

He let go of Bucky but not fast enough. His fingerprints stood out bone-white on his flesh-and-blood wrist and darkened to violets.

“Bucky.” Steve hissed, grasping his wrist before dropping it like a hot potato. “I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Bucky made a noise of interest and he felt, rather hysterically, his cock twitch in response. The smell of preheat lingered in the air like traces of cardamom and pepper. They were in an enclosed space. Stripped down to their most primal instincts.

Steve was disgusted with himself.

He was supposed to be the better man. Wasn’t that why Erskine had chosen him?

Not some common bully preying on the disadvantaged. An omega who had been sent to him to be bred like a prized pony. Presented to him like a gift all wrapped and shiny with a bow on top. This wasn’t why he brought the Valkyrie down in the Arctic. He thought the world was supposed to be _better_.

His throat closed up like he was twelve again.

Bucky hummed, wrapping an arm around him. They didn’t quite fit anymore. Steve was bigger. Couldn’t tuck himself against the bulk of Bucky’s body or shroud himself in a sympathetic omega’s scent. He wasn’t supposed to. But in that moment, there in a bathroom at a party he didn’t care about, where the cold tiles might have been lava for all the wrongness he’d endured in the past hour, he felt at peace. It was perfect and he wanted to stay there forever.

But he couldn’t. More importantly, Bucky couldn’t.

“Bucky.” He cleared his throat. “I’m getting you out of here.”

“But why?” Bucky asked in confusion.

Steve took a fortifying breath.

“This is wrong.”

“I’ve said too much.” Bucky realized. “I must report to my handlers.”

Before he knew it, Bucky had zipped his trousers closed, tidying up his debauchery.

“I have failed my mission.” Bucky said.

“Wait, Bucky. No, don’t go.” He slammed the door shut. In desperation, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “It takes more than once.”

He knew that wasn’t true. The war had drilled them on importance of condoms for their health as well as psychological warfare. For all he knew, Bucky was knocked up. He flushed at the thought. But he was betting on the fact that Bucky didn’t know. Because this was a Bucky that didn’t recognize him. Didn’t get the memo that Hydra was the enemy that caught him and tortured him and eventually murdered him.

Bucky frowned. “The mission parameters were clear. I was to be bred by you and I have been bred.”

Steve winced at the clinical use of the words. He rested his hand on the side of Bucky’s neck, just below the scent glands, teasing them as though they were a bonded pair. He noticed with a touch of regret that Bucky’s bruises were fading on his wrists.

He was the worst.

“Tell whomever you’re reporting to, tell them you need more time.”

“How much more time?” Bucky asked.

Steve was going to hell for this.

“Tell them you triggered a... rut. Tell them... you need more time for a.” He choked. “Baby.”

Bucky accepted his new directives without question. It was crushing. He didn’t want to examine it too closely.

But at the same time, it gave him hope that this could be fixed. He could fix this.  

Steve, because he was an idiot, twined their fingers together and squeezed. “Hey.” He said. “I love you.”

Bucky did not reply in kind.

And while Bucky had passed on his message in clipped German, Steve took his phone out and dialed the first number on his speed dial. She picked up on the first ring.

“Did you know that Morse bleaches her hair? I can see the roots.”

“Nat.” He took a breath. “I need information on an operative.”

“Wow Steve, it’s barely been three hours since we got here.”

It was a prompt to continue. He could make out the muffled sound of her heels on the floor. With luck, she wouldn’t have had Tony trace the call. They needed to move.

“He’s a _Shield_ operative. Six feet tall. Brown hair.”

Nat made a tutting noise. Perhaps about to sling a quip about how many tall brunets she knew.

Steve lowered his voice.

“He’s enhanced.”

Bucky in hand, they began to make their way down the stairs. Elevators were too obvious. Jarvis would be watching.

He continued, “He’s fast, he’s strong and he’s got a metal arm.”

There was complete silence on the other line. It was hard to describe. It almost sounded as though all the air had been sucked out through the other end.

“Nat?”

He couldn’t hear her heels anymore. She’d taken them off. He could even picture the swish of her dress, the cut of it showing off the line of her body, the there-and-gone gesture of her chin as Hawkeye took to her six. Steve’s legs coiled in response.

“Right or left?” She asked. But he already knew she’d figured it out. She knew who Bucky was.

“Who is he?”

“His name is the Winter Solider. Most of the intelligence community thinks he’s a ghost.”

“You disagree.”

“Where are you?” Natasha asked, sounding resigned.

“I’m fine Nat.”

“You have ten.”

It really meant that he only had five.

“Come with me.” He told Bucky as though he had a choice. Steve was perfectly willing to club the other man and spirit him away in a fireman’s carry. But Bucky agreed to follow. The mission was important. As they reached the exit, Steve turned around and backed him against the wall to give him a hug. Bucky was stiff.

“No matter what happens.” He told Bucky. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll take care of it. No matter what happens, you’re my best guy. This isn’t on you.”

He didn’t say, _it’s on me_.


End file.
